


deceiving each other is a pointless thing

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bittersweet, Fluff, M/M, Sometimes you just have to miss your husband even if you don't like him, Unhealthy Relationships, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: "Feeling sentimental?""Always."It’s all sappy and poetic in a way that doesn’t escape him, but he never fancied himself a romantic. Not like Peter is.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 23
Kudos: 134





	deceiving each other is a pointless thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unicornspaceinvasion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornspaceinvasion/gifts).



> For The Magnus Writers Valentine Fic Exchange!  
> this is for Buffy, who wanted soft lonelyeyes and/or found family, so i went feral
> 
> it's not PERFECT and a bit out of character but it's SOFT and im a weak little man to these absolute bastards being normal for once SO hopefully you like it, Buffy!
> 
> set nebulously before the show even begins

It’s a thought that hits him at the most inopportune time, all things considered.

It’s been half a year since he last saw Peter, and for some reason, this time around, it settles differently. He didn’t notice at first, the emptiness there. It blends in with the minutiae of his management of fear and of the institute in his day to day life so seamlessly that it takes him a while before it comes to his attention.

When it does, it’s like a black hole, a sucking sensation that wants to pull him down, take all of his energy and will to continue the day. It makes him want to see him again, more than anything. He resists the urge to close his eyes and spy on him right then and there, but he does close his eyes. He takes a deep breath. He finds that he genuinely misses him. It’s not a new line of thought, exactly--in fact it’s one that he’s had a few times over the course of their tumultuous relationship, but again, this is different. Somehow. Harsher, or deeper perhaps. A bone-deep ache.

He shakes his head and tries to go about his day as if it were any other, tries to ignore these mostly unwanted feelings. His annoyance and frustration warm him, but that doesn’t stop the cold hand of the Lonely from caressing the back of his neck as he double checks his schedule for the rest of week. Doesn’t stop the claws of it as it sinks into his lungs when he’s on his breaks and his mind is unoccupied. But he persists. It’s stronger than previous times, the presence of the Lonely in the air around him, but it can’t be considered anything new. There are pros and cons to every relationship, and when it comes to his with Peter, the constant threat of the Lonely is one of the cons. A lot of the time, this isn’t a problem. A lot of the time, he just observes his situation and the Loneliness dissipates like fog under the sun. This time, of course, it’s different.

Elias quickly finds himself _hating_ ‘different’. Finds himself hating the softer spectrum of emotion because of how it plays with his heart like he’s as fragile as anyone else on earth. Finds himself hating how much he misses his husband, waxing and waning, sometimes so fiercely it’s a physical pain.

Simply acknowledging his situation just brings it into a stark light and makes the ache worse, and does nothing at all to dissipate the chill. Attempting to dissect it, take the pieces and catalogue them, dregs up memories so vivid it’s as if he’s there again, on beaches or in vacation homes. It’s jarring to have his usual technique throw back in his face, to see scenes that cause him pain in such precise ways, but trying to twist it to his benefit just drags up more memories and more pain. So instead, he tries to push down the unwanted emotions and the wandering thoughts of ridiculous yearning and heartsickness, and focus on work.

Of course, given his streak of luck thus far, it doesn’t work.

He calls it an early day, after losing the uphill battle against his own mind, and asks Rosie to remind him of a few things when he arrives in the morning. He thinks about how her blouse is the same silvery grey as Peter’s hair and wonders just how he fell so far for him this time around. Surely, he’d get a kick out of the meandering thoughts, if he knew just how strong his hold on Elias has become, however briefly.

Rosie gives him a pleasant smile and wishes him a good evening, and Elias dons his coat and starts on his way home.

He can’t say with any amount of confidence that either of them have been acting differently towards each other this go around. In fact, it might be safer to say that they’re more at odds now than they have been in the past, considering their individual plans for rituals are in the early stages. He has yet to get a letter from Peter, off cavorting about wherever his lonely heart desires, and in turn, he hasn’t tried to spy on him to see if he’s doing anything particularly interesting or useful. It’s a step to their dance that both of them seem to have missed. That doesn’t explain everything in a satisfactory way, though. He hadn’t noticed it until now, after all. A dance is subject to change, but being melancholic over a change in the steps is a ridiculous thought to him.

Maybe it’s the distance. There’s more than during their worst divorce thus far, both physical and emotional, but the key difference--the realization hits him in a different way than noticing his own pitiful yearning. He has to pause at the bottom of the institute’s front steps, because it clogs his throat with its cloying sweetness and makes it difficult to breathe. The key difference is the lack of any acrimony between them when Peter left.

It takes a long minute for him to reign it in and get a proper breath, but then he’s walking again, heading to his empty home.

The drive is sort of a blur, but he refuses to acknowledge that. His mind is hazy at best, lost in a familiar fog and time softened memories, but he finds himself at his home in one piece and not missing anything, so he simply shakes his head and grabs the doorknob, and then he stops. He releases the doorknob, and his hand is slightly damp when he brings it up to his face, and there are faint ice crystals spreading along the brass of the doorknob when he looks down at it. He curses himself for the twisting hope that makes its home in his chest at that, but he refuses to Look inside for Peter. It feels too much like a concession. Besides, it’s _winter_ , ice tends to _happen, stop_ \--

He sighs sharply through his nose and opens the door, all but slamming it shut behind him. The lights are off, the blinds are closed, and the air is cold enough that his breath puffs out a cloud when he exhales. The hope writhes, and Elias swallows Peter’s name before it can leave his mouth, because calling out to an empty house was too pathetic, and he hasn’t fallen that far. Yet. There’s still hope for him to pull himself out of this before he ends up casting himself upon the metaphorical altar of the Lonely, a sacrifice of his own making. The mental image makes him snort.

Instead of Peter, he tries to think about what to do with the rest of his day, for entertainment, for dinner, for winding down, and it’s a jumbled mess as he takes off his coat and shoes, too many things running in circles in his mind, and then he stops again. It takes several seconds of staring before it hits him like a physical blow, seeing the second pair of shoes on the rack and familiar peacoat on its hook, and he finds himself frozen in the entryway for too long of a minute. He finds himself having a hard time breathing again.

His heart is pounding in his ears and his throat refuses to cooperate, because all it wants to say is Peter’s name. He forces himself to take a deep breath before he turns and walks into his house proper. The floor is like ice under his feet. It’s grounding, but at the same time it sends his mind off into the salty sea air of memories. He doesn’t even bother turning on the heat.

Peter is home, as far as he can tell, but it does nothing to ease the cold grip on his insides as he walks around and sees the small signs of life. Peter’s half empty cup on the kitchen island, beside a plate of crumbs, is the first thing he finds. He goes about rinsing the ice cold tea out of the cup and washing both it and the plate, putting them away, lingering as he wonders if Peter has even properly eaten today. 

For a brief handful of minutes, he considers that maybe Peter had just stopped by and then left again, into the Lonely. He’s gone without a coat and shoes before and it always leaves him bitter and hard in more ways than just physical.

Then he sees Peter’s keys abandoned on the hallway table, as he continues inside, beside a wallet and some assorted jewelry he doesn’t remember Peter having. No doubt gifts for Elias, of some sort. He remembers Peter telling him that the jewelry he brings home reminds him of Elias, saying something about his eyes, which is why he buys so much of it. It was ridiculous, and usually Elias wouldn’t care for the ironic romanticism of similes involving eyes, but now the memory hurts like frostbite.

At this point, he’s on the lookout for the man himself. He’s gone past considering Peter walking around barefoot on the monochrome sandy beach and is now considering this might be some twisted game of hide-and-seek. Or simply a trail leading Elias to where Peter is waiting for him. He hears the sound of the tv on in the next room, a woman’s voice pleasantly droning on about the Arctic Circle, and Elias makes a mental note to remind Peter not to leave it on when he’s not even watching it as he opens the door to the den, and yet again he finds himself frozen.

There’s a familiar hat on the back of the sofa, and a mess of grey-white hair resting against the arm. Elias can’t get his legs to move no matter how much he wants them to, and he just stares at the top of Peter’s head as the woman starts talking about the polar nights and midnight suns of the Arctic and Antarctic circles. About the months upon months of darkness, and then how the sun has its reign with uninterrupted light for just as long, because of the axis of the earth.

It’s all sappy and poetic in a way that doesn’t escape him, but he never fancied himself a romantic. Not like Peter is.

His legs finally obey him, and he walks over to the couch. Peter is sprawled across it, clearly not meaning to fall asleep there, with the remote still in his hand and one foot still planted on the floor. It makes something heavy and saccharine well in Elias’ lungs and throat, and before he can stop himself he runs a hand through Peter’s hair. It’s crusted in sea salt and frost but still somehow soft. Peter hums in his sleep, a low, vibrating sound that reverberates through Elias like he’s a bell that’s been struck, and he steps around Peter to sit down on the other side of the couch.

At this point, he’s given up resisting the heavy weight of these ridiculous emotions he finds himself suffering through--honestly, it’s days like this he finds himself wishing that the Eye was one of those patrons that cared only for certain emotions and discarded the rest--and he grabs the quilt draped across the back of the couch before nudging Peter’s thigh. “Roll over,” he orders, and Peter hums again and does just that, pulling his other leg onto the couch and laying on his back. Elias briefly considers grabbing a pillow so that Peter won’t wake up with a sore neck and back, and snatches the two from the armchairs. Peter starts grumbling as Elias shoves them under his head and upper back, but then he lets out a content sigh once he settles back into them.

“Ridiculous,” Elias finds himself mumbling. At the same time his misplaced affection makes it almost impossible to breathe, and he covers himself and Peter with the quilt as he lays down on top of him. Peter is cold, freezing almost, but it’s not anything new. In fact, it’s a comfort, as ridiculous as that sounds. A familiar body, with familiar fat and muscle and divots and mounds that Elias fits against like he belongs there. Peter’s hand absently runs up his back and makes him shiver from the icy trail it leaves behind, but Elias feels that black hole inside of him begin to disappear. It fills with ice and fog and assorted jewelry and fond memories, and he falls asleep before he fully realizes what’s happening.

He wakes to Peter’s hand running through his hair, but he doesn’t want to get up and start their usual song and dance again, not yet. He buries his face in Peter’s chest and feels the rumbling of low laughter as much as he hears it.

“We could at least move somewhere more comfortable,” Peter murmurs, and twists some of Elias’ hair around his fingers. Another shiver runs down Elias’ spine, and Peter laughs again. “Come on, Elias. You’re cold.”

It sounds more like an accusation than an observation. Elias finds that Peter is right, though, even with his mind still hazy from the impromptu nap. He’s absorbed enough of Peter’s unearthly chill that he finds himself freezing, and Peter is warm by comparison. It explains Peter’s amicable nature, in a way. Elias has taken on more of the Lonely than usual, and it frees up bits of Peter’s soul, or something to that effect. It’d almost be poetic, if it were true. Not that he knows that it _isn’t_ , but--

He slams the brakes down on his train of thought and huffs. Nothing good will come from that kind of wishful thinking. “I wonder why that is,” Elias grumbles, finally, and Peter’s next laugh is louder, coming from his stomach. It shakes Elias because he’s still lying on top of him, and his breath cards through Elias’ hair like another hand. Peter shifts underneath him, either adjusting or trying to free himself, but Elias stubbornly refuses to move, even as Peter starts prodding his side in an attempt to get him to squirm. He’s so cold and numb that he finds himself not ticklish, and it’s both worrisome and a small comfort.

“At least let me get up and turn on the heat,” Peter says, his voice trembling with contained laughter but laced with something like concern.

Elias tightens his hold on Peter. “No.”

Peter sighs, and he stops poking at Elias to run his hand through his hair again. “Alright,” he says softly, with a dulled edge to his tone that almost comes across as smitten, as captivated. He traces nonsense patterns into Elias’ scalp and against the back of his neck and breathes evenly, steadily, lulling Elias back towards sleep.

He doesn’t want to sleep, but he feels full and safe and he hates the vulnerability as much as he craves it. “How long are you staying?” Elias mumbles against him. _This time_ , he wants to add, but his usual annoyance at Peter’s nonsense schedule is lost somewhere in the chill and feel of Peter’s hand.

Peter hums. He doesn’t answer immediately, which can be a good or a bad thing, depending on how much Elias plans on missing him once he’s gone. As it is in that moment, nuzzling against him, Elias wants the answer to be _a while. I’ll be around for a while, this time._

“It’s up in the air,” he finally says.

 _Stay_ , Elias wants to say, but he doesn’t want Peter to have something to use against him either, for when they inevitably fall into a downward swing. But he also knows Peter doesn’t want to genuinely hurt him, as odd of a thought as it is. Perhaps it’s hard for him to feed off of Elias’ loneliness when it’s mostly anger. Maybe the romantic side of Peter extends fully to Elias’ happiness, even given their ties to their separate, opposing gods. Maybe they’re both softer towards each other than they’d like to admit. The rational part of Elias points out that it won’t always be this way, and that should be a good thing.

“I will,” Peter says softly, and it takes a few seconds for Elias to realize that he’d said it out loud anyway. “Until you’re sick of me,” he adds, amusement coloring his tone, and he plants a kiss onto the top of Elias’ head. It’s a point of ice that sweeps through his entire body, but pleasantly.

Elias mumbles a dull edged insult, almost too embarrassed to say anything at all, and Peter chuckles at this. He starts humming a familiar tune instead of responding, one of many that Peter has collected over the years like scars, and Elias falls asleep again, lulled back in by Peter’s gentle fingers and quiet sea shanties.

* * *

Peter feels the sharp attention of Elias’ power seconds before he hears Elias’ footsteps coming from down the hall. A chuckle rises in his throat at the uncomfortable feel of eyes hovering behind him, and he finishes making himself a cup of tea by the time Elias steps into the kitchen doorway, looking ruffled and only half awake and, if he may say so, positively adorable.

Elias sits down on one of the barstools lined up along the kitchen island, and just watches Peter. The uncomfortable weight lifts from his shoulders and all he feels is Elias’ own sharp gaze observing him move around the kitchen, something in his eyes that Peter hasn’t seen in a long time. Something like affection, mixed with disbelief.

“Good morning,” Peter says to him, and starts making Elias a cup of tea as well. It won’t be good, because tea has never been Peter’s forte, but it’ll be hot, and Elias still looks pale, his lips just slightly blue.

“Good evening, you mean,” Elias grumbles, not taking his eyes off him. He barely even blinks, and it’d be unsettling if Peter didn’t already consider it endearing.

“Good evening,” Peter amends, and mixes a spoon and a half of sugar into Elias’ tea before placing it down in front of him. Elias immediately wraps his hands around it and hums, low in the back of his throat. He very pointedly doesn’t take a drink of it. “Have a nice nap?” Peter asks, just to fill the silence. It’s usually Elias that talks about nothing in particular, to keep the air from stagnating but also mostly to annoy him and his constant desire for isolation and quiet. This time, though, Peter finds himself wanting to fill the silence just so he can see Elias’ face change with microexpressions he’s come to memorize over the years. He briefly entertains the idea that maybe this is why Elias does it to him.

This particular question earns a twitch of his lips down, and for his eyebrows to knit together briefly before his face returns to politely blank. Thoughtful, and mildly annoyed. “No,” Elias says, and finally takes a drink. He looks a little impressed and his head nods just slightly, and a twisted and painful pride makes its home in Peter’s stomach. “I’m far too cold.”

“I offered to turn up the heat,” Peter says with a chuckle. 

Elias takes another drink, and leaves the cup up by his face. The steam turns the tip of his nose red, and his fingers are already beginning to regain color. “No,” he says again, with just the slightest lilt to his voice that Peter reads as teasing. It makes him smirk, and Elias returns it with a twitch of his eyebrow.

“What’s got you so affectionate today?” Peter asks instead, hoping to blindside him with how suddenly it comes up. Elias blinks at him, his expression schooled back into neutral, and Peter can’t tell if he’s succeeded or not.

It’s an honest question as much as it’s a challenge. Elias is not and has never been a physically affectionate person, let alone the type of man to openly admit his more romantic desires. So both happening in rapid succession, him curling up against Peter and even asking him to stay, cuts at him. It worries him as much as it thrills him, because it’s a small gift with massive implications.

Elias responds, after a few beats of silence. “I could ask you the same thing.”

This, of course, Peter was expecting. A parry and strike of his own, because Elias does not back down from learning everything he can. And Peter has given it plenty of thought, in the few hours of Elias’ napping. He can’t begin to understand and rationalize Elias’ own feelings towards their relationship, but Peter uses it for his god. It’s why he’s home already, after only a few short months. Sometimes the Lonely wants him to be on his own, at sea, adrift in several definitions, and sometimes it wants him to be at home and in the arms of his husband, because loving company can cause the sharpest loneliness. At this particular point in time, Peter has reached the apex of his current cycle and has started his ritual to fall to the other direction. Loneliness only hurts when there’s something to miss, and spending too much time away from home begins to numb him to this pain, so here he is. It strikes him as a little odd that it happened so quickly this time around, that the sea lost its appeal, but he’s not beyond human proclivities. People tend to prefer the company of their spouses, right? At least, that’s how he thinks it’s supposed to work.

Regardless, he’s home because it makes him miss being on the Tundra and it’s isolation, and sometime in the near future he’ll return to his vessel and crew because it will make him ache for Elias.

“Just how it is, sometimes,” Peter responds, finally. He doesn’t know how long the two of them have been sitting in silence, but Elias hums as if it’s only been seconds. He’s nodding again, just slightly, and it’s an agreement that Peter wasn’t exactly expecting. He stops and watches how Elias taps a nonsense rhythm against the ceramic of his cup as he stares down at it, not seeing it. Elias’ own loneliness is sweet, thick like honey in the back of his throat, and he savors it as he watches Elias refuse to acknowledge it or Peter, until Peter is practically choking on it. His presence is drawing out the bone deep ache in Elias, and it’s as much of a treat as it is a weight on his chest.

He sets down his cup and walks around the island to Elias, but Elias doesn’t look up, not immediately. He stares down at his tea until Peter says his name, and then he only glances up at him.

“What do you want, Peter,” he says, sounding resigned and achingly fond at the same time. It’s not a question, but a prompt for Peter to do whatever it is he’s planning.

And what he’s planning is to tilt Elias’ face up to him and brush a kiss against his mouth. Elias shivers under his touch, not even trying to hide it, and he’s still so cold beneath Peter’s fingers. He kisses him again, deeper, and Elias brings one hand up to wrap around the back of his neck, and at least his fingers are warm. Elias hums when Peter pulls away, his eyes lingering on Peter’s mouth in a way that gives him space even though they’re so close, and he closes his eyes when Peter leans in again. He huffs a quiet laugh when Peter instead kisses his eyelids.

“Feeling sentimental?” he asks, in a teasing lilt again.

“Always,” Peter says, and Elias lets him tilt his head back and kiss down his cheek, down his jaw, to his neck and nuzzle there. He hums again, a low sound that echoes through Peter in a pleasantly overwhelming way, just on the edge of too much. “I meant what I said,” he mutters against Elias’ still cold skin. Elias says nothing, but Peter can feel the desire for clarification in the now tense muscles of Elias’ neck, and it’s like a charge in the air. “I’ll stay until you’re sick of me, this time.”

Elias goes almost limp, relaxing again in his arms, as he kisses more of his neck, back up to his jaw. It’s a small concession of power, all things considered, but even just this is enough to make Peter want more than just kissing in the middle of the kitchen. Elias scratches absently at the back of Peter’s neck, until he’s had enough of this and he sits up, out of Peter’s arms.

“You owe me dinner,” he says primly. “I slept right through it.”

“That’s not _my_ fault.” Peter chuckles, but he turns to start looking through Elias’ kitchen. He’s not a great cook by any means, but it’s not the quality of the meal that Elias is looking for here, it’s the submission, and Peter gives in to immediately. He’s not sure if it’s a Beholding thing or an Elias thing, to be the one with the power and control, but either way he likes how it makes Elias square his shoulders and lift his chin in haughty amusement.

He lets Elias watch him putter around, a little lost on what to do for food. He knows the layout well enough, knows the usual types of food and ingredients that Elias keeps on hand, but he’s not hungry himself. Elias is slowly starting to warm up again, watching Peter at home in the kitchen, but his earlier nosedive was enough to sustain Peter for days, most likely.

Elias gives a derisive snort when Peter pulls out a few packets of cheap ramen noodles. Peter shrugs and tosses them onto the counter. “You never said it had to be fancy,” he says, and watches Elias roll his eyes with his entire upper body and it’s endearing and he can’t help but smile. “I could make it fancy?” he adds, with enough of an upward inflection to make it a question.

This makes Elias laugh, leaning toward mocking but still genuine enough that butterflies flutter in Peter’s stomach. He’s still on the fence about whether or not he likes the feeling, after all these years. “And how, exactly, are you going to make a quid of ramen ‘fancy’?” He leans one elbow against the island and rests his chin against his fist, his eyes narrowed in amusement and ridicule and--yes, for now, Peter finds he enjoys the fluttering.

“That’s a good question,” Peter says, because he knows admitting his floundering will make Elias snort, and the noise is pleasantly rough. By this point, most of his color has returned and the blue tint to his lips has started to fade. 

“I’m not helping you,” is what Elias says, but his tone makes it clear that he’ll step in the moment Peter’s incompetence makes him too frustrated to simply watch. Whether or not Elias is consciously aware of this is up in the air, however, and Peter shoots him a cheeky grin and sets some water to boil.

They fall into silence, after that, and it’s comfortable. Somehow, the air is downy and fogged around the edges, but there’s no undercurrent of animosity that usually runs between them. Peter decides to pull vegetables from the fridge to add to the ramen, as well as some simple sliced deli meat, and Elias snorts at him again both times, but it lacks its usual bite and makes Peter smile more than scowl. It’s an odd change of pace, if he’s being honest with himself. He usually knows Elias to be sharp words and rough edges, but now Elias is watching him with a naked fondness that feels like too much. Peter wants him to stop, because Elias’ scrutiny tends to fall closer to unpleasant than comforting, but then Elias is staring off out the kitchen window. He lets out a small sigh. It’s unacceptable, so Peter stops what he’s doing to walk back over to Elias and lean on the island next to him.

Elias blinks twice, then slides his eyes over to meet Peter’s. The faint mist of the Lonely disappears from the kitchen air immediately.

“It’s rather rude to daydream while you have company,” Peter tells him, and Elias rolls his eyes and waves him off. He doesn’t say anything, so Peter stays in place and watches him lean back, scrunch up his nose in distaste, and cross his arms.

Then, he finally says, “What do you want, Peter?” in much the same way as earlier. Peter didn’t exactly have a plan for this, wasn’t entirely sure Elias would cave under Peter’s scrutiny like Peter tends to under Elias’, so he shrugs. Elias scoffs.

A nugget of warmth sits in his core as he watches Elias run a hand through his hair and mess it up even more. It’s hard to explain why he says to Elias, “Would you believe me if I said I love you?” but he decides not to think too hard about it just yet. He’ll think back and regret it later, perhaps, but for now he relishes the way it makes Elias’ cheeks go just slightly red.

“Considering the day I’ve had,” Elias says, and sounds annoyed and frustrated and just a little off balance, “Yes, I would.”

Peter hums, and steps closer to Elias to lean over him, a hand on his waist. Elias’ head tilts up, but Peter stays far enough away that their lips don’t quite touch. It gets him a sharp sigh, and he smiles.

“So my next question is,” Peter murmurs, and Elias actually closes his eyes. A thrill runs through Peter and leaves him feeling raw and exposed, even though he’s the one in control of the situation, the watcher between them. It’s not unpleasant. “Do you love me?”

Elias just hums, and at first Peter is certain he’s not going to get to hear the words, but then Elias murmurs back, “Yes, I love you.”

Peter kisses him with the sentiment that almost knocks his legs out from under him, an affection so strong it’s agonizing. Elias kisses him back weakly, his hands just barely tugging on Peter’s clothes, and for a few minutes it’s as if they’re normal people, simple humans with nothing supernatural pulling their strings. Husbands with nothing but each other.

And somehow, Peter burns the ramen.

**Author's Note:**

> (it's Peter's ramen. He bought it. Elias just never got around to throwing it away. i couldn't find a good way to work it into the fic so i'm saying it here lmao)


End file.
